


Bedford Station

by cilceon



Series: Lying Eyes and Honest Hands [5]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 18:27:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29440428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cilceon/pseuds/cilceon
Summary: Wanderer tossed the rock up in the air lightly before catching it. Then, she brought her arm back an flung the stone as hard as she could into one of the train cars. The collision sounded like a gong, ringing out into the surrounding wasteland.Like clockwork, ferals began to scurry out from their hiding places. Deacon took the first shot, promptly removing the poor soul’s head. Wanderer took the second and third – Deacon was the fourth. That was the pattern they usually worked with. She was able to reload faster so he’d shoot first when they saw the target before it saw them, then Wanderer would take two or three shots in the time he was ready for his second. She’d count his shots, knowing Deacon only had five before he had to duck for cover and fully reload. When the fifth sounded out she’d normal save five herself to protect him until he could fire again. Thank god they both had suppressors because her hearing would be non-existent otherwise.
Relationships: Deacon/Female Sole Survivor
Series: Lying Eyes and Honest Hands [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1992751
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	Bedford Station

**Author's Note:**

> long time no post! sorry about that, ive been missing deacon something awful so i should have something else up soon!!  
> stay safe & wear a mask!

Wanderer and Deacon had been on the trek from Bunker Hill for about five hours now. They reached the train tracts just as the sun was setting and would most likely reach Mercer within an hour. The main downside of PAM picking an old military outpost as a safehouse was that it was so damn far away from the heart of Boston. But it was closed to Sanctuary and if runners kept following the tracks, they’d make it to the Capital Waste in no time.

However, they got low on supplies more than Desdemona, or her, liked. Which was why she often got the pleasure of running care packages.

This was the first time Deacon had tagged along though. He said he wanted to catch up with Caretaker but she got the strong inclination that was only part of the reason.

She looked to Dogmeat, who was dutifully trotting ahead of the pair, keeping an ear out for any molerat that got too brazen, the thought made her skin crawl. Ever since the business in Vault 81, the rats had made her a little jumpier than before. A fact that Deacon had, thankfully, picked up on.

“Then this guy grows up and since he was addicted to apples, right?” He continued with ‘his’ story, “He decides he’s going to travel around and plant apple trees everywhere he goes. Ends up covering an entire valley in the damn things.” Deacon threw his hands in the air. “Can you believe that Wands? An entire valley just full of trees.”

“No shit? Apple trees everywhere?” She rolled her eyes. Was he aware that she knew this story from her childhood? He had to be, there was no way he wasn’t.

“Are you interested? I feel like you’re not interested.” He crossed his arms as he fell into stride besides her. “Am I losing my edge? Oh god, am I boring?”

Wanderer thwapped him on the arm lightly, “No, you dingus. I just know who Johnny Appleseed is.”

Deacon slumped his shoulders sightly with mock disappointment, “Aw you’re no fun.”

She was about to console her friend when Dogmeat let out a low growl in front of them. Deacon dropped the act – pulling his riffle, Churchbell from over his shoulder. In turn, Wanderer flicked the safety off of Deliver.

The distinct hissing of feral ghouls could be heard.

The trio were approaching a switching station with a large red water tower. Train cars blocked the tracks ahead of them, one was knocked over and on its side. Wanderer let out a curt whistle to Dogmeat.

The dog looked over his shoulder expectantly, waiting for his order. She hitched her head to the side and Dogmeat let out a _boof_ before running silently to the left, to circle around the cars. Wanderer then bent down and picked up a rock, glancing at Deacon. He nodded, taking a step backwards, ready to fire.

Wanderer tossed the rock up in the air lightly before catching it. Then, she brought her arm back an flung the stone as hard as she could into one of the train cars. The collision sounded like a gong, ringing out into the surrounding wasteland.

Like clockwork, ferals began to scurry out from their hiding places. Deacon took the first shot, promptly removing the poor soul’s head. Wanderer took the second and third – Deacon was the fourth. That was the pattern they usually worked with. She was able to reload faster so he’d shoot first when they saw the target before it saw them, then Wanderer would take two or three shots in the time he was ready for his second. She’d count his shots, knowing Deacon only had five before he had to duck for cover and fully reload. When the fifth sounded out she’d normal save five herself to protect him until he could fire again. Thank god they both had suppressors because her hearing would be non-existent otherwise.

Their normal tactic wasn’t needed in this situation, there was only six ferals drawn out, the two of them had taken down five between them. Dogmeat tackled the sixth, ripping out its throat.

“Disgusting.” Wanderer grimaced at her dog as he came back to her, rotten blood running down his muzzle. He gave himself a shake, sending the liquid off of himself with the motion.

Deacon let out a chuckle besides her, reloading his gun. “Don’t take it to heart Dogmeat. You’re an adorable killing machine.”

_Boof!_ Dogmeat smiled up at the man, his tongue flopping out the side

Wanderer smiled down at her furry companion. “A messy, adorable killing machine.” She looked around at the station. “I wonder what drew them out here?” Ferals weren’t zombies, they didn’t just Wanderer aimlessly. Those people had been driven insane and had a habit of cluttering around where wastelanders tend to go.

Deacon had his attention to farther down the tracks, returning to his previous serious state. “Looks like there’s a body over there.”

She looked to the direction he indicated and – sure enough, there was a crumpled heap in a burgundy jacket ahead of them. Wanderer’s eyes started to get misty as approached them. Death was still death, regardless of how many times she’d bear witness to it.

As she drew closer to the man, it was obvious that the ferals had gotten to him. One had ripped his throat out, much like how Dogmeat had done a minute prior. They never ate the people they killed; it was like they just wanted them to stop existing. Maybe they were jealous.

Wanderer brought her hand to her own throat, feeling the pulse thumping beneath her hand. This man looked like he was in his early twenties, like he’d just barely be able to buy his own alcohol. In his jacket pocket the corner of a piece of paper was peeking out, the wind lifting it slightly. Wanderer muttered an apology to the corpse as she pulled it free. It looked like Drummer Boy’s handwriting.

_Deliver your package to the old switching station. The runner arrives at midnight._

“Damn.” Deacon read the paper over her shoulder, “He was one of ours, from Stanwix.”

She moved to look at him before realizing how close he was, it made her jump. “Gah! Would ya’ stop doing that?”

Deacon shrugged, “What? I get curious.” He shoved his hand in his pockets, backing up from her.

“Did the synth get picked up… Dogmeat,” She looked to the dog, “Can you find anyone else?”

_Woof._ Dogmeat bowed his head before bringing his nose to the sky, a beat later he took off towards the water tower.

“The nose on that dog.” Deacon mused, “I wonder if he can find the marble I lost when I was twelve.”

“Depends on where you lost it.”

Dogmeat howled mournfully ahead of them.

Deacon shook his head. “That’s not a good sign.”

Wanderer agreed. At the base of the tower was another body – this time a woman, head tilted back to the sky. She was covered in deep gashes, her leg shredded. She must have blead out from the injuries. Wanderer looked at the woman, despite the horrendous way she died, there was a peaceful look on her face, freckles scattered across her cheeks like someone flicked a blackened paintbrush at her. A grouping of them made a constellation Wanderer could have sworn she’d seen before. There was a crumpled piece of paper, stained with blood beside her. Deacon was canvassing the surrounding area when she read this one.

_The package arrives at midnight._

Another gust of wind reached them, this one strong enough to blow the hair out of the dead woman’s eyes making her fully visible. _Helena_. This woman was Helena, the runner for Mercer, she had taught Wanderer how to play a game called Caravan once. She hated tatoes and loved fancy lad snack cakes. This was someone she knew. “Deacon, the package might still be intact.” Heat rushed to her fingers, the agent in her taking control like a tiny Desdemona. “Dogmeat. Find them.”

There wasn’t a scent trail to follow, he settled for listening. Dogmeat’s back shot straight up as he picked up on something of interest. He barked tersely and ran to the steps of the switching tower – finding something he deemed important.

Wanderer followed the hound with a nod to the remains of Helena, Deacon following behind her. “Hold.” She whispered patting Dogmeat on the head for a job well done. She climbed the rotting wooden stairs to the porch and door of the tower. Deacon moved himself in a way that when the door opened, he wouldn’t be seen but could have a clear shot should he need to take it. Wanderer had her gun put back in the holster on her thigh, confident Deacon would have her covered if it weren’t a terrified synth on the other side.

She gave the door handle a turn which the metal rejected. Someone had locked the door. A muffled whimper came from the other side. Wanderer glanced up at her companion before pulling a pin lose from her hair. There were only three tumblers in the lock that she made quick work of.

The door creaked open and Wanderer stepped inside. “Hello?” She asked, “Is there someone in here?” There wasn’t much in the tiny room, a desk and a dresser, an unkempt bed in the corner. It was the small form nestled between the dresser and bed that drew Wanderer’s attention. It was a pale woman, shivering with her arms covering her blond head. “It’s alright, I’m not going to hurt you.” She dropped to her knees slowly, to be on the same level as the synth.

She flinched in response, eyes darting to ever part of Wanderer, looking for signs that she was a threat. “Do- do you have a Geiger counter.” The words were rushed, strained with an agency that removed any question from it. Synths didn’t usually know their callsign but Wanderer pushed that thought away for later.

“Mine’s in the shop.” The sentence was hardly out of Wanderer’s mouth before the woman lunged towards her, an arm wrapping around her waist and the other around her neck. She was sobbing into the crook of her collar. Well, this was new. Most of the recuses didn’t like touching the agents, they had been deprived of affection their entire lives, it was a foreign concept to most of them.

Between the sobs Wanderer could make out a repeated “I was so scared.”

She stroked the back of the woman’s hair. “I know, sweetheart. I know. I’m sorry we failed you.” If Deacon and Wanderer hadn’t come this direction to get to Mercer, who knows who would have found her. “We’re going to get you somewhere safe, alright?”

The woman pulled away from her now, her blue eyes puffy and red with fear. “Is Dutchman okay? He told– he told me to run but I don’t know where he went.”

Wanderer tried to hide her pained expression but she wasn’t as good at it as Deacon. “He’s gone.” She hoped that would be enough of an answer, judging from the look in the woman’s eye, she was right.

Tears were still streaming down her face. “I should’ve done something. I could have helped.”

Wanderer shook her head, “Being alive is help enough. All we want is for you to live.”

The synth’s voice was almost a whisper. “I have to deserve it first.” It was said more to herself than to Wanderer.

“You already do.” By the shocked look on her face, this was the first time she had heard that, “What’s your name?”

“M8-54.” She responded automatically, then looked to the floor between them almost ashamed.

“Hi M8, my name’s Wanderer.” Wanderer held out her hand to the synth, who tentatively to it in her own as they both stood. M8 was still shivering, all she had on was a moth-eaten tee shirt and a pair of jeans. Her shoes looked like they were two sizes too big. Wanderer took her flannel off and handed it to her. “Here, you can put this on if you want, it gets pretty cold out here when the sun goes down.”

M8 took the shirt repeating her words, “If I want? People keep saying that to me, I know what means but I never thought it’d be directed to _me._ ”

Wanderer smiled, “Well it’s going to happen an awful lot more.” M8 returned the smile as she continued, “We have two friends outside that were going to be walking with us.”

They headed to the door now, once he had seen that Wanderer had the situation under control Deacon must have headed down the stairs to join Dogmeat.

As Wanderer moved out of the door frame, she looked down at him and waved her hand saying: “Everythin’s alright, I found our friend.” M8 was behind Wanderer, peaking out over her shoulder to get a look at Deacon and Dogmeat. Her eyes widened at the side of the dog. It had completely slipped Wanderers mind that this was probably the first time she had ever seen a mutt like hers.

“What's- what's that?” She said pointing at Dogmeat.

“This right here is Dogmeat. He’s a German Shepherd. A type of dog.”

As they reached the bottom of the stairs, Dogmeat tentatively came up to the synth. She flinched as he tried to sniff her hand before Wanderer reassured her. “It’s alright, he's not going to hurt you. Dogmeat care couldn't hurt to fly.” It seems that in the span of Wanderer calming down M8, Deacon had gotten a rag from his bag and clean most of the blood off of their furry companion. Thankfully, he did so or else her point would have been grossly contradicted.

M8 reached her handout and pet behind Dogmeat’s ear. “It's very nice to meet you, Dogmeat.”

In response, Dogmeat teetered his head to the side and closed his eyes slowly, loving the attention he was getting.

“Who's– who are you?” She said, looking at Deacon, once again taking shelter behind Wanderer.

Deacon responded in place of her. Wanderer never liked introducing him on the change he wanted to use a different alias. It seemed this time, however, Deacon was content with introducing himself as who he was. “I'm Deacon, ma’am. It's very nice to meet you.” He tilted his hat ever so slightly in her direction before he took his jacket off, handing it to Wanderer.

She stared at his outreached hand.

“I can’t have you catching a cold now.” He explained, “You sneeze like a very loud old man.”

M8 giggled from behind her, quickly covering her mouth with her hand then looking to the ground, “It's nice to meet you as well.”

Wanderer snatched the jacket from his hand with a glare, grumbling out a “Thank you” as she wiggled herself into the clothing. It smelt like him of course, smoke and something she could only place as safety.

She smiled to M8 and gestured to the path they would be taking before shoving her hands into the pockets of Deacon’s jacket, “We're going to be heading down these tracks for a little bit. Hopefully, we won't run into any problems by the time we get to Mercer.”

“Dutchman said we'd be going to see Uncle Mercer, is he a nice person like you?”

Wanderer smiled again. She had forgotten that ‘Uncle Mercer’ was the affectionate name that Helena and Layline had given to their outpost turned home. “Mercer is actually a place, but the people inside- they're real good people. I think you're going to like them a lot.” She explained.

“How far away is it?” M8 hid her hands in the sleaves of Wanderer’s flannel, protecting herself from the cold.

“About an hour maybe, it won't take long. Deacon can sing some show tunes and time will fly by fast.”

“Oh, you know I have performance anxiety, Wanderer.” He called over his shoulder.

“Now how would I- ugh you’re impossible.” She shook her head and M8 smiled regardless of not to understand the joke.

“I haven't seen the sun out before. I've always been underground or in a building when the suns out. Will we get to see it?” M8 asked more questions than most synths Wanderer had been around.

She thought for a moment, there wasn’t a set time Deacon and her needed to be back at HQ, “We can climb to the top of the scaffolding on the radio tower if it’s not that misty in the morning.”

“In the morning…” M8 echoed, “Okay, that sounds nice. I would– I want to see the sunrise.”

Wanderer’s grin grew larger, “Then we'll make it happen.”

A few minutes of silence passed before M8 spoke, “Is the sky blue? There is a scientist in the Institute- he used to say when he was sure about something that he ‘was as certain as the sky is blue’.”

Wanderer nodded. “Mhm, sometimes it's grey cause its cloudy and when the sunrise and sunset happen, it turns into a purple and orange and a red. But yes, the sky is blue.” She tried to sound cheery, hiding that the thought of not seeing the sky pulled her heart in a dark direction.

“I'm excited to see it.” M8 started to choke up a little, a tear falling down her face. “I'm excited to see so many things.”

Deacon was walking a few steps ahead of them, his rifle still out. Dogmeat was behind them, leaving the two women in the center protected from anything that might happen.

Wanderer kept her gaze forward, content with watching the muscles of Deacon’s shoulders move, she decided to change the topic, “Do you have a favorite color?”

“I didn't… I've never had a favorite _anything_. I like blue– I think. I like blue a lot.” M8’s eyes were focused on her feet and the train tracks they walked on.

Wanderer nodded smiling at the man in front of her, thankful he couldn’t see her. “There’s a whole bunch of different kinds. The sky is, well sky blue. It's light and soft, it has a kindness to it. A hope. Then there’s cerulean which is brighter, a little more jagged.” She was going on a tangent but M8 didn’t seem to mind, “There's sapphire, which feels warm and safe. Thalo, which has that same warmth as sapphire but an edge like cerulean.”

“They all sound pretty. I like that word, Thalo.” M8 said it again, slowly. Tasting the way it felt on her tongue.

“Ya know, that could be your name if you want. No one has to know your designation code ever again. I could be the very last person you ever say it to.” She’d probably choose to get the mind swipe in the Memory Den but in the time in between there was no harm in it.

M8’s eyes widened, the blue of them shining brightly despite the night. The prospect of being something beyond a label, being something more than a glorified coffee maker… Wanderer could tell she didn't know how to handle it. For a moment she thought she overstepped herself.

“I would like that very, very much.” She said it again, “Thalo, my name is Thalo and my favorite color is blue.”

“It's very nice to meet you, Thalo.” Deacon said it from his place ahead of them without turning around.

Thalo smiled bright and full of new claimed life. “It's very nice to meet you, Deacon.” She addressed him before turning her attention to Wanderer, “Do you have a favorite color?”

“Mine’s also blue but,” She hesitated for a moment, suddenly very aware that Deacon could hear their conversation. Her hand left his jacket and moved to the small silver four-pointed star pendant with a small blue crystal in the center that hung around her neck, the same shade as his eyes, “I have a certain shade I really like.”

Thalo tilted her head to the side, “What’s it called?”

Wanderer looked at the space between her feet as Thalo had previously doing, while she answered. “I don't really have a name for it but, well, it's the sky right after it rains. It's sort of sky blue… but it's almost gray at the same time. It has a sadness in it but hope too.” The rest of their walk continued on like that. The two women making idle conversation as they reached their destination.

Mercer had come a long way since the last time Wanderer had been there. What Layline, Caretaker, and previously Helena had done with the place since that made her jaw drop.

They had turned the mismatched pallets and pieces of wood into a towering home that surrounded what used to be just a radio tower into almost a three-story tall building. A hodgepodge of a towering shack but it looked stable enough. Turrets overlooked every direction from the structure, this place was nothing if not fortified.

“Hold on there.” Somebody called out. It was a man’s voice; one Wanderer didn't recognize. “This is private property.”

“Oh sorry,” Wanderer called out, “We were just wondering– do you have a Geiger counter?”

The man eyed her suspiciously before answering, “Mines in the shop. Who are you?”

“Wanderer. I'm coming with supplies from HQ and we picked up a package on our way.”

His eyes squinted even more. “We were told you were only bringing supplies. Not a package.”

Deacon cut in. “Yeah well, somethings happened and let's just say Helena’s not with us anymore. I’d gladly give the report to Caretaker.” If Wanderer didn't know any better, she’d say that Deacon sounded upset with how this agent was talking to her.

A muffled clattering from inside the building and a woman with familiar rusty hair popped out of the doorway. “Grover what are ya’ doin’ yellin’ like that out here– oh shit! Wanderer is that you?” She called out seeing upon seeing her friend, Layline waved her hand in the air, almost smacking herself on the scared half of her face in the process. “It’s good to see you!” Now she moved her arm to hit the man on the back of the head, not too lightly. “Sorry about him. Come inside, we’ll get ya’ settled.”

Grover rolled his eyes, “Layline, I ain’t being a tight ass. We can't just let people come in here whenever they want that's–”

She cut him off, “Now ya’ listen here, Wands built this whole damn place. She can come and go whatever she damn pleases.” Dogmeat ran up to her in greeting. “Aw good to see ya’ too ya’ lil’ mutt.”

Wanderer chuckled lightly; she had missed Layline a great deal. The group entered the building as Layline thumped up the stairs, she was trying to be quiet but didn't quite succeed in it. “Caretaker finally went to sleep at a decent hour so,” she shrugged, “I get to be in charge for the next two or four hours. Who are ya’ friends?” She paused looking from Thalo to Deacon. “Oh, wait a second I know those stupid glasses.”

“Damn,” Deacon shrugged, “Maybe I really should go for a different pair once in a while.

Wanderer gestured to Thalo. “This is Thalo, she was the package you were supposed to receive from Helena.”

“Thalo huh?” Layline cocked her head to the side thoughtfully, “I like it.”

“I do too.” Thalo looked around the room, seemingly intrigued with everything.

“Why dontcha come with me n’ we’ll get ya’ settled for the night. Ya’ gotta be tired. N’ you two make yourselves at home.” She addressed Deacon and Wanderer before heading up the stairs with Thalo.

Deacon shrugged the bag off his shoulders and moved to their makeshift kitchen. Despite this being the first time, she was aware of him coming to Mercer he seemed to know where everything went as he unloaded the contents.

“Thalo seems to like you quite a bit.” He said, inspecting a can of beans before putting it on the shelves.

“Do you think so?” Wanderer situated herself on the edge of the table next to him, opening her own bag.

“Oh yeah, the way she was clinging to you on the walk over here? Like she's a little duckling and you were the momma duck.”

“I am not a Mama duck Dee.”

“I’m sure I’ve heard you go quack quack at some point”

She rolled her eyes as she moved to where the safe house kept its store of candles to add to the dwindling pile. “I hope Caretaker's doing okay. He seemed awfully riled up the last time I came over.”

Deacon nodded solemnly. “Has Des mentioned that he was at Switchboard.”

She nodded. Feeling his eyes on her from behind. “Honestly, I think even if she didn't tell me I would have been able to figure it out. He's jumpy, like Tom.” wanderer hesitated before continuing, “I know, I never asked. At the time I didn't think you'd answer… are you doing okay, Deacon?

“Whatcha mean Wands?” he slowed his words ever so subtly. The way he did when he was thinking, she doubted anyone else ever noticed when he did it.

“When the two of us went back to Switchboard to get Carrington's little toy. I didn't know you all that well… I'm sorry I couldn't offer any condolences.”

Deacon shrugged, moving towards the couch in the corner of the room. “It's alright Wands. Don't you worry your pretty little head about it.”

She stood up, walking over to join him. “You think I have a pretty little head?”

“All right don't get full of yourself now.”

Wanderer sat down on the couch next to him, though there seemed to be plenty of space on the empty side, Deacon seemed to move closer to her – filling up the space. On instinct, she leaned against him, resting her temple on his shoulder.

For but a brief moment, Deacon stiffened before relaxing once again. He wrapped his arm around her as if it was as natural as breathing. Wanderer closed her eyes. Letting the soft murmur of Layline’s footsteps above them, the steady hum of the turrets outside, and Deacon's breathing lull her into a light sleep.


End file.
